Dear Diary
by DeScribe
Summary: Life as a hunter can be rather lonesome at times, especially when you're a blood elf trying to find your place among the Horde. Why not take the advice of a friend and start writing a diary?
1. Prologue

**Dear Diary**

Prologue

„You should try it sometime, El. I'm serious."

I look up, shielding my eyes with a hand against the bright sunlight and smile. Annika looks down on me from her vantage point, perched on a broad branch of the tree I'm sitting under. She takes another bite from her apple and waves the fruit in my direction like she's about to throw it at me.

"Really. You're by yourself most of the time –" Echeya, lazily resting in the shade next to me, raises his head and shakes his silvery mane, a reproachful expression on his furry face, but Annika goes on without mercy.

" - except this overgrown bedside carpet, and…" Now Echeya's expression is definitely hurt and he growls angrily. It almost sounds like he's hungry, but I fed him only half an hour ago, so that can't be the reason. Annika rolls her eyes.

"Anyway. You don't have anyone to talk to when you're out there, El." I open my mouth to object, but she raises her hands. "I'm talking about someone who can understand your thoughts. And don't give me that 'Echeya is the best friend I could wish for and he understands every word I say' crap. You know what I mean."

I lean back against the tree and place a soothing hand on Echeya's head. The growls slowly turn to a soft purr while I'm tenderly stroking his mighty head, and his bright blue eyes are resting on me with a calm expression. My big kitty.

I pick up the piece of fine leather next to me and unfold the cloak with a critical look. It's almost done, but some more reinforcing stitches here and there couldn't hurt. After all, Annika is going to wear it down pretty quickly. She always does.

The thread is stubborn and refuses to go through the eye of the needle. For a few seconds I fiddle around with my tools, cursing under my breath, before I finally succeed. Annika jumps off the branch and lands right next to me in a graceful crouch. Her brilliant green eyes are twinkling, and once again I'm getting lost in the beauty of her face, her delicate features, the elegant, slanting eyebrows, the full, ruby lips… the stray strands of silvery hair falling across her face…

"El!?"

"What?"

"Stop looking at me like that and give me an answer!"

I blink, jerked back roughly into the here and now, and lower my head over my work. I sew a few stitches before I look up again.

"Well… yes. Okay. I guess I could try…"

Annika shakes her head and laughs at me.

"You really sound excited, El. Just do it for a while. I'm sure it will be good for you to sort out your thoughts every once in a while."

I scratch my head and look at her doubtfully.

"Who would be interested in reading my thoughts, Anni? I mean – why write it down if nobody will ever read it?"

Annika leans over and rests her head against my shoulders.

"Write for yourself, El, not for anyone else. These are your thoughts. And if you don't mind, I'd like to read about what you're doing when I'm not around." And with a mischievous grin she adds: "Just think about it – you might even show it to your grand-children some day."

There it is again, that twinkle in her beautiful green eyes. I sigh and hate myself for the flush of red I feel rising up in my face. After all those years that I've known her I should really be able to control my feelings a little better.

Annika is taking my sigh as an affirmative answer, and after some rummaging around in her large backpack she produces a leather-bound book and a quill. Ceremoniously she places both items on the cloak I'm working on. I put down the needle and flip through the empty pages of the book. I look up when I feel Annika watching me intently.

"Your diary. May it be filled with many pleasant events and very few sad ones," she says, and the expression in her eyes has changed. She's serious now. I lean over and wrap my arms around her in a tight hug.

"Thank you, Anni. I really appreciate it."

She laughs, plants a noisy kiss on my forehead and jumps up. I look up at her regretfully, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's busy picking some leaves off her tunic and looks at me expectantly.

"So – do you think you'll get this marvellous cloak done by tonight?" She tilts her head with a very convincing pout.

"I don't want to return to Silvermoon City without another one of Eladyon's masterpieces. My pretty cloaks are the envy of the whole squad." I look up and glare at her.

"Stop distracting me then, woman!" I bend over my work to hide the broad grin on my face. Of course the cloak will be ready.

After all, a promise is a promise.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

**Tauren, trolls and undead, oh my**

The empty white pages in the leather-bound book seem to mock me as I'm flipping through them, undecided about what to do. I'm on my way to the Undercity, making a short stop at Tarren Mill to get some rest and a cool drink before proceeding. The inn is busy as usual, and I retreated into the back of the decayed building to avoid the other patrons.

I never wrote a diary before. No idea how to start it. Hell, I don't even know if I really _want_ to do this. Annika and her brilliant ideas, indeed.

I suppose I should do this methodically. Start from the beginning and work my way through. That's how I'm used to tackle my everyday tasks, and so far it has worked out quite well.

My name is Eladyon Brightflame. I am, as you already know, a hunter. I am also a blood elf, which means I'm one of the newer kids in Horde town. I spent most of my life in or around Silvermoon City, and boy was I not prepared for what was awaiting me when I first touched the Orb of Translocation…

A soft growl from under the decrepit table I'm sitting at makes me look up. Echeya has raised his head and stares at the approaching form of Shay, the innkeeper, who's carrying a tray with a bottle of wine, a goblet and a bowl filled with water. The goblet and the bottle of wine are being set on the table, and then he bows down and puts the bowl in front of my cat. Echeya eagerly starts lapping the cool water while I'm throwing some silver coins towards Shay, who catches them in one hand, producing a clicking sound when the metal connects with his bare bones. It's an old joke between us, from the time I've asked Shay, quite bluntly, how he managed to keep the coins from slipping through his fingers, since there's almost no skin left on them to… well, you get the picture. He found it rather amusing, gave me a bone-rattling pat on the back, coughed out something remotely similar to a laugh and lurched away.

Well. I probably wouldn't be too talkative, either, if I were missing half of my jaw. But he's not unfriendly, and he doesn't mind me bringing Echeya inside, unlike some other innkeepers I've met on my travels. He's even as considerate as to bring some water for my cat each time I'm here, which is remarkable. Perhaps he was a hunter himself when he was still… alive.

I watch Shay's retreating back, pour some wine and empty the goblet with a few long swigs. The wine is good. You wouldn't think that an undead has much interest in palatable things, but meeting the undead cooking trainer right behind the inn changed my prejudice. He knows some surprisingly good recipes.

Of course the wine doesn't come from Shay's own wine cellars. He told me that the Deathguards have a standing order to snatch a barrel of wine for the inn every once in a while during their regular raids on the farms at Hillsbrad Fields. Got to give those humans credit – they do know how to make wine.

But I digress.

As I don't know who is going to read this journal – if anyone's going to read it at all -, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and write it in Orcish. I was tempted to keep it in Thalassian, but then again… my Orcish has a lot of room for improvement, and I apologize in advance for any wrong or strange sentence structures or expressions you might find in my writings. But, after all, this is not supposed to be some work of art. These are just my thoughts, plain and ordinary. This journal might, perhaps, be the only thing that's left of me, something you could find in the backpack lying next to a dead body. It may be kept someplace, gathering dust, to be discovered decades later by my great-grandchildren. It may be destroyed before anyone can read it.

Who knows.

I pour some more wine and take another swig. A strand of my hair gets caught around the goblet, and I disentangle it, realizing that I'm due for another haircut soon. Annika refers to my hair colour as "foxy red", I prefer "maroon". It's streaked with a silvery white; I have no idea where that combination comes from. I used to wear it long in the fashion of our people, tied loosely together with a leather cord in the back of my neck. But lately I was finding myself the unwilling centre of attention a few times too often. You know, it's one thing when a female orc tries hitting on you, but it's getting downright scary when you're being stalked by and whistled at by a male night elf.

So I asked Annika to cut my hair off at the nape of my neck, with only a few strands around my face left at the original length, giving in to Anni's pleas. Of course they keep falling into my eyes all the time, but I guess that's better than the wrath of a paladin. I try not to attract too much attention, but, you know. These are interesting times.

I'm a simple guy. I don't know much about politics, rulers and wars. I follow my business; I learn my trade and try to become a better hunter each day. I skin, I work with the leather, I try to sell some things which I don't need for myself or Annika. As I already said, I spent most of my life around Silvermoon City. Our allegiance to the Horde is something I accept, as is the hostility of the Alliance towards us. I usually don't pick a fight; I just defend myself when I'm attacked. Unfortunately the orders, given to me by the Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas himself when I left Silvermoon, were unmistakable: do anything you can to aide the Horde. They are our allies. We belong to them. Do as you are told.

Great.

I tried to stay out of battles against humans, dwarves, night elves and gnomes at first. But I realized I couldn't do that forever. And then my missions started to get ugly. Poison them, steal from them, kill them. I do what I'm told, but I don't have to like it, right?

What's bothering me even more is the hostility within our own ranks. I've tasted it all, from covert resentment to open hate. I admit it; I do have a problem with undead. I mean – these guys are downright creepy, don't you think? The way they talk, the way they… smell. And worst of all, the way they feed on their dead enemies. The first time I teamed up with an undead mage I got violently sick when he started to devour our – human! – enemies after we had killed them. When I returned to the mage on wobbly legs, he just laughed, and the hollow, raspy sound wasn't really helping my upset stomach.

While I haven't met many orcs yet, I was hoping to get along better with tauren and trolls. But no. I recall a particular incident at Durnholde Keep a few days ago.

I had found and released two orc prisoners and was on my way back out when I got into trouble. Two of the human soldiers jumped me, and while Echeya and I managed to kill one of them before he could run off, the other one escaped and brought two others with him. It was a hard fight, and we could only win because my faithful cat took care of one of the guards while I was fighting the other one. We were exhausted, bleeding and out of breath, both of us. We retreated to a safe spot outside the Keep and I examined Echeya's wounds, dressing them as best as possible. While I was busy cleaning a deep cut in his side I had a feeling of being watched. I looked up and saw two shadows against the bright sunlight. A female tauren and a male troll were standing there, watching us. I squinted against the sunlight and frowned.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked in Orcish. The tauren glared at me.

"Long enough," she replied, her deep voice cold as ice. I stared right back at her.

"Thanks for helping then," I said sarcastically. She crossed her arms and shrugged.

"Actually I was hoping to watch you die."

I thought I had misunderstood. After all, I hadn't been practising my Orcish very long.

"What?"

The troll, a tall guy wearing two shimmering daggers and dark leathers, obviously made by a highly skilled leatherworker, grinned.

"Don't mind her," he said in a pleasant, almost conversational tone. "She's a bitch. Always has been." And he vanished. Literally.

The tauren kept on glaring at me silently. I grew nervous. Where the hell was that troll?

I finished cleaning Echeya's wound and put some plant salve on it, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Echy was feeling my distress and growled softly. He kept staring at a point over my shoulder, and a second later I felt the troll's lean body brushing against my back. I whirled around and took a step back. He was still grinning.

A rogue. I should have known. Damn.

"You _do _realize that we're on the same side?" That got out sharper than I intended. After all, they didn't look too friendly. Echy needed rest and was in no shape to fight, and I wasn't feeling so good, either. The guards' weapons had pierced my leather armour in several places, there was a long cut across my left arm and a smaller one over my left eye which was still bleeding. Furiously I wiped my face with my gloved hand. The tauren woman smirked.

"Aw. Concerned about your pretty face, elf?" She idly drew some strange runes in the soft ground beneath her feet and it dawned on me where I had seen runes like that before. She was a druid. Which meant she could have healed both of us in a heartbeat.

But I felt too tired to even argue. I just shook my head.

"Why…?"

"Why didn't I help? Very easy. Because you're a blood elf." She took a quick step towards me, her tail twitching. Echeya perked his ears, ready to pounce, but I calmed him with a gesture.

"I would have helped any other member of the Horde," she hissed, her eyes narrowed. "But I despise and hate your guts. Blood elves! Why can't you go back to this precious shiny city you came from? We don't need you here!!"

She almost screamed the last words, and I took another step back. Echy got up, pressed his flank against my leg and growled. I put a hand on his mighty head and made a calming sound. The last thing I needed was Echy going protective and the tauren exploding in our faces. I have been fascinated by druids and their powers, probably partly due to the feral part in them, and I had been looking forward to meeting them. But I surely hadn't expected that my first encounter with them would be like this.

The troll was having fun vanishing and reappearing around us, never saying a word. He seemed to be amused by the whole encounter. But I've had enough. I shoved bandages, salve and water into my backpack, slung it over my shoulder and ignored the pain that shot up my injured arm.

"Welcome to the Horde," I murmured under my breath while I was walking past the tauren.

"Go and get yourself killed, elf!" She yelled after me, but I didn't turn around. All I wanted at that moment was a drink, a bath and a clean bed. Things I knew I'd find in Silvermoon's Inn.

…

I put down the quill and rub my eyes. The bottle of wine is almost empty. I feel just as angry and exhausted as back then, when I realized, with a sinking heart, that it wasn't just the Alliance I had to be wary of.


	3. Chapter 3

_First off, thank you for taking the time and effort to review this story. I very much appreciate your __fair comment and constructive criticism, and I intend to use it to improve. I'm glad you liked it so far and I hope you're going to stay with us for Eladyon's next adventures._

_And a fair warning for all you purists out there: __In the upcoming chapter I'm going to bend the rules a little. I know that communication with the other faction is handled very restrictively in the World of Warcraft. This will be slightly different in my story. Also, I'm aware that the cooking recipes are the same for both sides, but it seemed more natural that each race would have their own 'secret ingredient' for their dishes._

* * *

Chapter Two

**Getting the blues**

The night is warm, and the cool breeze drifting in from the open door is very welcome. I'm sitting in one of the alcoves carved into the stone walls of the inn at Splintertree Post in Ashenvale, my diary on my knees and a bowl of fruit and a lit candle next to me. Padded with some additional cushions I found in the storage room, this isn't half bad for a sleeping place. I'm hidden from the direct view of the other patrons strolling in to get some food or a drink, and the colourful wind chimes dangling in front of the alcove are adding even a little more privacy. There are beds, too, but the straw they are filled with doesn't look very inviting to me. Sadly our high standards of cleanliness and comfort don't seem to be shared by most of the local inn keepers.

I couldn't bring it over me to climb into one of the hammocks hanging from the ceiling, either, and every now and then I throw a wary look across the room at my only sleeping companion at the inn tonight. He's a giant of a tauren, a shaman as I found out over dinner. We were having a friendly chat, and now he's swaying peacefully in his hammock across the room, snoring like he's about to set a new record for sawing down the forest. He's tossing and turning in his sleep every so often, and each time I'm waiting for him to crash down to the floor with an almighty thud. But nothing happened so far. He obviously has a lot of experience with this kind of sleeping arrangement.

I push one of the mouldy cushions in my back and lean against the wall. I'm still far from my usual shape, but all things considered, I'm glad to be alive. I stare at the skull serving as a candleholder, and I can't help but think that I was damn close to having someone else using my own skull for their home decoration.

* * *

A couple of days ago I left Echeya in the care of Qeeju, the troll stable master at Splintertree Post, and set out to find one of the elder Ashenvale bears. It may sound strange if you're not familiar with the ways of a hunter, but in order to advance Echy's skills, I have to find beasts which already possess this skill. I need to tame it, befriend it, hunt with it for a while, until I find out just exactly how the new skill works for the beast. Then I set it free, which is always kind of hard for me. But I don't have the time or the money to keep more than one or two pets, and so I have to let them go. When I return to Echeya, I teach him what I've learned. It's that easy.

At least that's how it usually goes.

Now the problem is - you can't fight back when the beast attacks you. Hard to make it understand you're his friend when you do, right? So taming a pet always is a painful endeavour, and I keep health potions and bandages at the ready. Equally, if not more important is plenty of food for my future pets. They don't take friendly to not being fed copious amounts of their favourite food in exchange for giving up their freedom, and believe me - it's not funny when a newly tamed pet starts turning against you while you're trying to patch yourself up.

It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. There he was: a beauty of a bear, huge, with immaculate, shining brown fur and clear black eyes. He was wandering around in a clearing, just off the road. I could see two or three other bears and a couple of huge spiders in the distance, but none around the area where he was. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Did I already mention that I hate spiders? I know that's an odd thing to say for a hunter. But I grew up in a completely spider-free environment and when I encountered the first multi-legged creatures in Ghostlands, I was not happy. I never even attempted to tame a spider, and I'm more than glad that Echeya doesn't have any issues with them. I'm not exactly what you might call arachnophobic, but… it's coming close.

But back to "my" bear. I slowly approached him, moving as noiselessly as I could. When he got my scent, he gave a mighty roar and jumped at me. I planted my feet firmly on the ground, took a deep breath and braced for the impact, reaching out and concentrating hard. I kept focussing on him, while his sharp claws started ripping through my leather armour. I dodged his jaw a couple of times, closely escaping his snapping teeth, and fought to stay on my feet. I was chanting the old incantations, passed down from one generation of hunters to the next, keeping my voice as calm and steady as possible. The bear lunged at me again, his eyes dark and ferocious, and reared up on his hind legs, towering over me as he swiped his paw across my chest, shredding the leather and leaving a deep gash across my chest and left shoulder. I stumbled and almost fell, and gasped at the hot pain searing through me. I bit my lip to not cry out, but resumed my chant almost immediately. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to me, the incantation seemed to sooth him, and with a feeling of triumph I saw that he was starting to calm down. He lowered his mighty head and…

… an ugly, hissing sound behind my back made me spin around. My concentration broke.

A giant spider was slowly crawling towards me. For a second I met the spider's multi-faceted eyes, and then it stopped and reared as a massive squirt of bright green liquid was shooting at me, splashing against my chest and arms, covering me in glutinous ichors.

The pain was so intense that it took my breath away. My left arm and side instantly became numb, and I dropped to my knees, feeling nauseous. Fighting for air, I felt my heartbeat speeding up. The venom was starting to spread from my chest and shoulder through my body like a flow of molten lava. Breathing became more difficult by the second. The spider reared again, and I rolled to the side, narrowly missing a second load of venom.

I forced myself on my feet, swaying and unsteady. Clumsily I unsheathed my sword and inched back while the burning pain kept raging through me like hellfire. I was panting heavily; the spider was slowly advancing towards me, and the bear, having shaken off the pacified state I had put him in earlier, was almost upon me as well.

Then, suddenly, there was a white flash and both bear and spider were encased in what was looking like an ice trap. I blinked furiously and wiped sweat and blood out of my eyes with the back of my good hand. I raised my sword, rather shakily, when a deep voice shouted something I didn't understand. My legs didn't support me any longer and I finally collapsed on the soft ground, fighting for each breath. Helplessly I watched the icy traps burst and both beasts changing course, charging at the tall figure standing a few steps off the road. I wanted to scream, wanted to draw their attention back at me and away from my unknown ally, but all I got out was a hoarse croak.

But the tall figure didn't seem to be in trouble at all. There was an eerie sound like an explosion, a bright shower of sparks erupted violently around the figure and bear and spider dropped to the ground, dead. I couldn't believe my eyes. I never had seen such advanced magic before.

I tried to sit, but I was too weak. Each shuddering breath I drew was burning in my throat, and it just was becoming difficult to keep my eyes open. The figure approached. He was clad in long, flowing robes and carrying a long staff. A mage, possibly? But the face looking down on me was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The skin had a blue tinge, and there were… tentacles? Tentacles… sprouting from his chin. His eyes, crystal blue, kind, calm… his voice, deep and gentle, with a strange, foreign resonance… I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I felt a strong hand lifting me up and a trickle of cold water on my lips. I tried to swallow, but most of it was spilled on my face, my neck. I didn't mind. It was nice and cool, and I was dying, anyway. My consciousness was slipping and then I heard it, a soft, melodious sound, like chimes, like music inside of me. I was enveloped in a cloud of soft light and sweet, pleasant sound, and I didn't feel any pain. Was this… death? If it was, then it was nothing to be afraid of. I smiled, giving myself over to the light and sound, and drifted into nothingness.

* * *

I was swaying… the ground was moving underneath me… the scents of the forest returning to my senses together with the burning pain coursing through my body… I opened my eyes and gasped when I realized that the ground was far away and the swaying movement was caused by the large beast I was riding on, firmly held in place by a strong arm around my waist. I was leaning against a broad chest. With an effort I raised my head and tried to sit straight, but the grip around my waist tightened and I fell back, helplessly. The deep, pleasant voice I had heard earlier spoke again, soothing, calming, the meaning of the words still a mystery to me. I relaxed and settled back against his chest, watching the brightly coloured trees and bushes passing by on either side of us.

'This place is quite beautiful, pity it's night elf country', I thought with surprising ignorance of the precarious situation I was in. Then I blacked out again.

* * *

Fire… I was burning… so hot… and yet, I was shivering uncontrollably. I tried to move, but my movements were constricted. I opened my eyes in panic, vaguely remembering the alien face I had seen before. It was dark, and the only source of light was coming from a flickering campfire nearby. I was lying on the ground, next to what was looking like a huge tree log. Above me I could see some kind of makeshift canopy, ripped and torn in several places.

I fought against the restraints, finding that I was covered with a soft blanket which was wrapped tightly around me. My left side was still numb, but I managed to free my right hand and feel for my sword. It wasn't there, and neither was my dagger. My belt was gone, as were my leather vest, bracers and gloves. I took a deep breath and forced myself in an upright position, gasping at the sudden pain flashing through my body. Another shiver was sweeping over me and I felt cold sweat running down my back while I was trying to disentangle from the blanket. I heard soft steps, and the tall, blue-skinned stranger crouched down beside me.

He spoke to me with his deep, rumbling voice, but again I didn't understand a word. Slowly he reached out and gently settled me back on the ground. I was too weak to even struggle. Frowning, he placed his large hand on my forehead and looked at me with concern in his bright blue eyes. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was parched. He got up and returned a moment later with a bottle. He lifted my head and poured some of the cool contents into my mouth. I swallowed greedily and promptly coughed. He held me until the fit was over and lowered me to the ground again. I still couldn't focus; I was so exhausted that I closed my eyes again. He wrapped the blankets around me, not as tightly as before, and there it was again - the soft, melodious sound of chimes filling my mind, and the warm, golden light, taking all the pain away.

* * *

When I woke up again the sun was shining in my eyes. I squinted, watching the ripped canopy above me flapping in the slight breeze. Cautiously I tried to sit up, steadying myself with my right hand as the world started to spin. I leaned against the trunk and blinked a couple of times to get my eyes to focus. Clean white bandages were wrapped tightly around my chest and shoulder, and the pain had subsided to a bearable level. With a surge of relief I realized that I could move the fingers of my left hand again. My arm was still numb, but at least the damage didn't seem to be permanent. The campfire was still burning, and the blue-skinned mage was sitting next to it, stirring the contents of a pot. Whatever it was, the smell was delicious, and my stomach started to grumble audibly. The mage looked up and smiled.

_Draenei._

For the first time since I saw him I was thinking clearly. Of course. Draenei, the mysterious race I had heard so many stories about in the various inns I stayed at. His figure, reminding me a little of a tauren, was tall and athletic, his chest broad, his arms muscular. His long, dark blue hair was tied back and held together with a clasp. Four long tentacles were growing from his chin. The hem of his robes had slipped up to his ankles, revealing dark blue hooves. He also had a tail, different from the tauren one, but still…

"Draenei."

I didn't realize that I had said the word aloud until I saw his smile deepen. I had said it in Thalassian, but obviously there wasn't that much of a difference in pronunciation. He nodded, still smiling, and pointed at me.

"Sin'Dorei."

It was odd to hear the familiar word pronounced like that, and even stranger to have a member of the Alliance using this term. I looked at him curiously, nodded and smiled back.

"Selaan," he said, pointing at his chest. His voice was rich and deep, with a slightly guttural tone. I nodded again and pointed at my own chest.

"Eladyon."

I don't know how it must have sounded to him, but he was having a hard time repeating my name.

"El," he finally said, and I found it strangely comforting that he was using my old nickname. I smiled and nodded again. He pointed at the simmering pot on the fire and raised his eyebrows. Again I nodded, more enthusiastically than before, and he laughed. He got up and put a bowl, a spoon and a piece of bread on the ground next to me. I tasted a spoonful of soup, which turned out to be made with chunks of catfish. It was simply delicious, cooked with herbs and spices I didn't recognize. I also had some fresh bread, and I used the last bit to clean out the bowl. Selaan was watching me, an amused twinkle in his crystal blue eyes. I washed down the last bit of bread with the water Selaan had provided and leaned back with a contented sigh.

It was starting to get darker, and the soft breeze turned into a cool chill. Shivering I drew the blanket closer around my bare shoulders. Selaan looked at me and pointed to a heap near my sleeping place, where I also saw my backpack and weapons. He unfolded the piece of leather and I frowned at my leather vest which was soaked with blood and green venom and ripped to shreds. No, I couldn't possibly wear this anymore. Selaan sighed and rummaged around in his own backpack. Then he held out a white shirt, and we both broke out into a fit of laughter. I could have used this shirt as a tent.

Selaan got up and pointed over yonder. For the first time I saw the outlines of elven buildings in the distance, settled on an island in the midst of a vast, glossy lake.

"Astranaar," Selaan said, pointing at the village and then at his mount which was tied securely to one of the trees. I understood. He was planning on going there and wanted me to stay put. I nodded. It wasn't like I had much choice. I was feeling better, but I was still weak, and the prospect of running through a forest filled with hostile Alliance didn't really appeal to me. I drew back into the shadows. Selaan took my weapons and placed them on the ground next to me. Then he mounted the huge beast and rode off.

Daylight was turning into dusk, and I splashed some water in my face to keep awake. I was getting concerned, and there also was a nagging voice in the back of my head. What if he wasn't as helpful as I thought? What if he just wanted to keep me alive to deliver me to the night elves once I was healthy enough?

I shook my head, chasing the little voice away. No. I usually could trust my instincts, and they had told me that I could also trust Selaan. And what good would it have done him to save my life back there, just to hand me over to the night elves? It wasn't like I was important enough for a ransom demand, nor did I know any secrets they might want to extract from me.

Selaan returned shortly after, and I was more relieved than I had thought. He shrugged apologetically and pointed at the large building overlooking the lake, which was illuminated by dozens of lights now. I could see a lone, tall figure standing there, looking in our direction, and I understood. The night elves had watched us making camp in these deserted furbolg dwellings, and they wanted to know what was going on. I doubt that they had recognized me as a blood elf, but Selaan probably still had a rough time explaining things.

Selaan opened his backpack and took out another white shirt. I guess it was a human size, still a little large, but a lot smaller than his own. I rolled up the sleeves, and with Selaan's help put it on. He had also brought a bottle of health potion which I chugged down, immediately feeling the revitalizing effects.

Selaan pointed at his mount and raised his eyebrows questioningly. I nodded. It was time to leave before the night elves would become even more suspicious.

Selaan gathered my belongings and stowed them in his saddle bags. He handed me a black cowl, and I understood that he wanted me to cover my hair and ears. I might pass through as a young human if it weren't for them. Then he carefully lifted me up in the saddle. I gasped when a wave of pain was sweeping over me, and blindly fumbled for something to hold onto to prevent me from slipping down again. Selaan swung himself in the saddle behind me, and the journey back began.

We made good progress; there weren't many people around, and each time we encountered a night elf or another member of the Alliance, I closed my eyes and leaned back against Selaan as if I was sleeping. It worked out perfectly.

Finally we stopped. The crude wooden fence surrounding Splintertree Post was only a short distance away. Selaan dismounted, and I slipped down after him, almost hitting the ground if he hadn't caught me. My legs were still shaky, but I straightened up and pushed the cowl out of my face.

"Selaan," I said and looked up at him earnestly. "Thank you."

He looked down at me curiously, and I bowed my head, indicating my gratitude to him for saving my life. For a moment he was looking puzzled, and then he nodded, his smile changing to a more serious expression. He said something in return, and it sounded both sad and encouraging. I sighed.

"Be well, my friend", I said, meeting his eyes. "Al diel shala – safe travels."

I stood and watched until I saw him disappear in the distance, safely out of reach of the Splintertree guards. Then I gathered my belongings and slowly walked towards the welcoming torch lights of the Post.

* * *

I put down my quill and the journal and rub my eyes wearily. The candle has almost burnt down. Kaylisk, the inn keeper, asks me if I need anything else. She pats my knee when I politely deny and gives me a toothy grin. I think she has a soft spot for me.

I settle down for the night, careful not to move too quickly. I blow out the candle and lay back, staring at the ceiling. The shaman has finished sawing down the forest, and the silence in the room is only disturbed by an occasional grunt from his direction. My eyes fall shut, and my last conscious thoughts belong to the unlikely friend I made.

I have a feeling that Selaan and I will meet again.


End file.
